Chapter 15 Enzo #2
I rub circles on her knee, staying quiet so she can have the space to say whatever she needs to get out.
“The cheating wasn’t a one-time thing. I found evidence of at least three other women during our relationship. But every time I confronted him, he’d turn it around. He’d make me feel crazy for being suspicious. He’d gaslight me until I questioned my own memory.”
My heart clenches at everything she went through. But I don’t respond. I need to give her space to say everything on her mind.
“The day I walked in on him, I’d come home early from a conference. I was going to surprise him.” Her laugh is bitter. “Surprise. There was a woman in our bed. In the bed we shared. And he looked at me like I was the one inconveniencing him.”
I pull off at the next exit, parking in an empty lot overlooking a lake. I turn to face her fully.
“What did he say?”
“That it was my fault. That I was never around. That I cared more about my career than our relationship.” She finally looks at me. “He made me believe I deserved it. That I’d driven him to it.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“I know that now.” She blinks rapidly. “But in the moment? I believed him. For weeks, I convinced myself that if I’d been different, better, more available, he wouldn’t have cheated.”
I take her hand. She doesn’t pull away. “None of that was your fault. You know that, right?”
“Logically, yes. Emotionally?” She shrugs. “I’m still working on it.”
“Is that why you ran from Breck? Why you pulled back from Ansel?”
Her fingers tighten around mine. “Partly. Damon made me feel disposable, like I was only valuable when I was useful or entertaining. And when I stopped being those things, he moved on.” She meets my eyes.
“I’m scared that’s what will happen with you.
With your brothers. That once the novelty wears off, you’ll realize I’m not worth the complication. ”
“That’s never going to happen.”
“How can three men be in a relationship with one woman?” she asks. “I already ruined your relationship with your best friend. I won’t destroy the relationship between the three of you.”
"Damon did that to himself." My jaw tightens. "And you're not some toy we're sharing. You're ours. You fit with us." I hold her gaze. "We want to see where this goes."
Her breath catches.
"Breck's guard is down around you. Ansel's, too. That doesn't happen." I let that land. "We don't bring anyone home. You're living with us. That means something."
“Enzo—”
“You will never be disposable to us.”
She squeezes my hand tighter. “I’m starting to believe that. And I’m starting to realize that you three mean something to me, too.”
Every instinct I have is screaming at me to kiss her, to show her, with actions rather than words, how much she means to me. But she’s opening up, trusting me with her pain, and that matters more than what I want. So, I continue to hold her hand and listen.
She’s quiet for a long moment, then changes the subject. “I’m scared about the threat. About Trent.”
“I know.”
“What if he comes after me? What if he hurts someone I care about to get to me?”
“We won’t let that happen.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because we have resources he doesn’t. Security watching you, watching your parents, watching everyone you care about. He makes one wrong move, and we’ll know.”
Her head snaps toward me. “You’re watching my parents?”
“Twenty-four-seven surveillance. Best private security money can buy.” I squeeze her hand. “They don’t know. We didn’t want to worry them. But they’re safe, Remy. I promise.”
She covers her mouth with her free hand, tears spilling over. “You did that for me?”
“Of course we did. You think we’d let anything happen to the people you love?”
She unbuckles her seatbelt and launches herself across the console, wrapping her arms around me. I catch her, holding her while she cries into my shoulder.
“Thank you.” The words are muffled against my shirt. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for my parents and me.”
I hold her tighter. “You don’t have to thank us for caring about you.”
She pulls back slightly, wiping her eyes. “My dad’s surgery is taking place next week. The surgeon says the prognosis is good.”
“That’s good.” I brush a tear from her cheek. “You must be relieved.”
“I am. Though Mom says he’s being stubborn about not overdoing it.” She laughs through her tears. “My mom is the exact same way, so they’re constantly arguing about who’s being more ridiculous.”
“They sound like good people. I can see where you get your strength from.”
She settles back into her seat but keeps holding my hand. “Tell me about your parents.”
The request catches me off guard. “Why?”
“I want to know about the people who raised you.”
I lean back in my seat, staring out at the lake. “Well, you know they died when we were fourteen.”
“I know the sad part. Tell me the good part.”
And this is the part I don’t ever share, but I want to share it with her. “Dad was brilliant. Obsessive. He'd vanish into his office for days, then emerge with something groundbreaking." I can still see him. Coffee cup in hand. Always. "Mom balanced him out. Kept us all grounded."
Remy's thumb moves across my hand.
"I lost my childhood the night they died." I don't hide the quiver in my voice. "The night they died, cops showed up at our door. Gran told us." I close my eyes. “Ansel tried to hold it together. Breck cried for days. And I got angry.”
“Angry?”
"Furious. At the driver. At my parents for taking that route. At God. At fate. At everything." I open my eyes. "I'm still angry. They never saw what we built. They missed all of it."
“That’s understandable.”
“Is it?” I shake my head. “It’s been seventeen years. I should be over it by now.”
“You don’t get over losing your parents.” Remy shifts closer. “You just learn to carry it differently.”
“How did you get so wise?”
“I’m not wise. I’ve just learned that pain doesn’t have an expiration date.” She cups my face with her free hand. “And you don’t have to be over it, Enzo. You’re allowed to still be angry. You’re allowed to still hurt.”
Fuck. Seventeen years of holding this in, and here’s Remy Ray telling me it’s okay not to be okay.
She’s still close, her hand on my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. Her eyes are soft, understanding, and I can see my own pain reflected back at me without judgment. The space between us seems smaller, or maybe we’ve both moved closer to each other without realizing it.
Her gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. Her breathing changes, becomes shallower. I watch her pulse flutter at the base of her throat, and my entire body tenses with the effort of not closing the distance between us.
I lean forward and kiss her, hungry and hard.
She kisses me back with equal intensity, her fingers sliding into my hair, pulling me closer. The console is between us, awkward and limiting, and I can’t stand it.
I pull back just long enough to say, “Backseat.”